


A Six Foot Baby With a One Track Mind

by AnnetheCatDetective



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, The Stupidest Angel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 02:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19220002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/pseuds/AnnetheCatDetective
Summary: For the OTD Good Omens prompt meme, and the prompt 'someone tells Gabriel what a himbo is (because he is one)'.





	A Six Foot Baby With a One Track Mind

    The last thing Aziraphale expected, after that stunt he and Crowley pulled off together, was for Gabriel to come waltzing into his shop on a Wednesday afternoon, as if nothing had ever happened.

 

    Aziraphale supposes he ought to get used to the last thing he expects. It always seems to happen sooner or later. He hadn't expected the relationship he has with Crowley to blossom into something so lovely as it has, after all. He hadn't expected the end of the world to go off the way it had. Hadn't expected any part of the end of the world that wasn't to go. Hadn't expected to carve out a nice, happy little existence with his shop and his earthly pleasures.  He hadn't expected that mess back in 1478 that had upset poor Crowley so much at the time-- then again, he doesn't think anybody had, or he'd drunkenly opined as much once in 1970 to a sympathetic gentleman named Graham, who he'd met only the once, and whatever happened to him, Aziraphale doesn't know, but he must have been drunk enough himself to accept the ramblings of an angel... He's never expected any of the best or worst things to have happened to him on Earth. That's the beauty of it.

 

    "Aziraphale, I hate to say this, but I have need of you." Gabriel announces.

 

    "And we're just going to pretend nothing ever happened, are we?"

 

    "Exactly." He approaches the counter, leaning against it, the look on his face utterly, stupidly ridiculous. "The Metatron was like... you guys need to just fucking chill about this, so..."

 

    "The Metatron said-- said the fuck word?" Aziraphale gasps, pressing his fingertips to his lips when he realizes he's also said the entire word. That makes three times in six thousand years-- no, no, four times, when Crowley had done that thing with his tongue last night...

 

    "Well, no, but it was in his tone, you know? But he reminded us all that everything happens for a reason, and you're part of everything. So congratulations! And we're very sorry about how we tried to execute you, but if someone," Gabriel points upwards with a meaningful look. He does not sound particularly contrite, but then... Aziraphale at least believes that _Gabriel_ believes he's very sorry. "didn't want you alive, you wouldn't have miraculously survived the... event."

 

    "Yes, well." He says curtly, straightening up. "And how may I help you?"

 

    "No one in Heaven knows what a 'himbo' is, so summon your demon."

 

    "I beg your pardon?"

 

    "Summon your demon!"

 

    "... Well I can see if he's awake..." He says, raising his eyebrows. What kind of idea Gabriel has about their relationship, he doesn't hardly know... He leans towards the back room, and wonders if he couldn't just tell Gabriel himself. He can't quite figure out _how_ to. "Crowley, dear? Could you come in here a moment?"

 

    Crowley ambles out, yawning just a little too wide to be quite human, and then he sees Gabriel. He freezes for a fraction of a second, and then in a flash so sudden even Aziraphale's not sure he tracked it, Crowley is in front of the counter, his shoulders squared, his arms spread wide.

 

    "You-- you! Don't you try anything smart!" He snarls.

 

    "Oh, I don't think he's going to try anything smart." Aziraphale rolls his eyes.

 

    "Thank you, Aziraphale, for your confidence in me." Gabriel just smiles at him, and then turns that smile to Crowley. "Demon! Greetings. I require your infernal knowledge."

 

    "... All right?" Crowley does not relax, exactly, but he's slightly less firmly pressed to the counter, warily adopting his posture to the casual conversation he seems to have wandered into instead of a fight.

 

    "You see, no one in Heaven has ever heard this word before, and so... well. I thought, maybe a demon would know. And then I thought, oh. Aziraphale knows a demon."

 

    "Very well." Crowley interjects, with rather a more salacious tone than Aziraphale might like, in front of his boss. Apparently still his boss after all. Not that Gabriel seems to notice.

 

    "You see, I came down to Earth to pick a new suit up from my tailor. And as I was having a conversation with that good man, a gentleman looking at neckties turned to his lady companion, and with a gesture to yours truly, he's all like 'wow, what a total himbo, right?', and then _she_ giggled, and told _him_ to be quiet. But by the time I was done with _my_ business, they'd already left the shop, and I asked my tailor if _he_ knew, and he didn't. So I asked Sandalphon, and he didn't know either. So I asked Michael--"

 

    "Yeah, I see where this is going." Crowley holds up his hand. "A himbo, you know... it's a bimbo, who's a him?"

 

    "Oh, that is clever." Gabriel grins and nods. Then the grin disappears in a flash. "But not at _all_ illuminating."

 

    "It means you're big and handsome and you've never had a single independent thought in your life." Crowley says flatly.

 

    A smile spreads its way across Gabriel's face. Some of the tension bleeds from his shoulders. 

 

    "Oh, that's so _nice_. From the way they laughed, I was nervous it might have been a bad thing. _Himbo_." He rolls the word across his tongue, dreamy. As close to 'thoughtful' as Aziraphale thinks he's ever been. " _Himbo_. I like that. That's the nicest thing anyone's ever called me."

 

    _You are an angel_ , Aziraphale wants to say. _People call you an angel. People call you beautiful and wonderful and miraculous, people call you handsome and strong_. He says nothing.

 

    "It's certainly the nicest thing _I've_ ever called you." Crowley says, with a too-sweet smile, and a sidelong glance to drink in Aziraphale's amusement. 

 

    "Thank you, demon, you've taken a weight off my mind. And while you are a wicked fiend cast into the pit for your crimes, deserving of eternal torment for the evil you've wrought upon the world--"

 

    "Gabriel, I really am going to have to ask you not to speak to him that way!" Aziraphale gasps. 

 

    "Oh. Sorry. Was that hurtful?"

 

    "What do you think?" He snaps. In his own recent experience, words like 'wicked' and 'fiend' and 'crimes' tended to lead to the bedroom-- or at least the nearest flat surface. It was the ceiling, once-- but 'cast into the pit' might still be a rather sore subject, and anyway, he doesn't want Gabriel turning Crowley on, either. 

 

    "Apologies, demon--"

 

    "And he has a name!"

 

    "Uhh, then apologies, demon Crowley, you seem like a very decent guy aside from the foul stench of evil that pervades the very air around you. Actually, I don't smell a whole lot of evil right now..."

 

    "Opened a window." Crowley lies. 

 

    "Like... there's a powerful stench of neutral." Gabriel continues.

 

    "And that would be the Kant." Aziraphale comes around the counter to usher him out. 

 

    He stops, between counter and door, picking a book off of a stack of new works, the sort he keeps in stock just to have something he can actually part with. 

 

    "Gabriel, as a gesture of... er, of their being no hard feelings on the whole _messy business_ back there..." He presses it into his hands. "Why don't you take this?"

 

    "A material object with no purpose to me?"

 

    "It's a _gift_. It's one of the ways people express their esteem for others. And this particular material object makes me think of you every time that I see it, so I want you to have it." He smiles. "It's by Christopher Moore. He's a funny American."

 

    Gabriel looks down at the book a moment, and then beams at Aziraphale. "Oh. A gift. Wonderful! Well, I'm off. Thanks for summoning your demon to answer my question, Aziraphale. We'll see you at the quarterly review in, uh... well, a couple hundred years, I don't know, it's on my calendar. We'll be in touch."

 

    And he's off. Aziraphale slumps a little with relief, and slumps in relief even further when he feels Crowley's hands at his hips, Crowley's lips at the back of his neck.

 

    "You _bitch_." Crowley coos. "You didn't."

 

    "I did."

 

    "Can Gabriel really not read Modern English? Even _I_ can read Modern English and I always just ask you to read to me."

 

    "I don't think Gabriel can read, period."

 

    "Oh, surely nobody _just_ reads Enochian."

 

    " _Period_."

 

    Crowley chuckles and kisses the back of his neck warmly. "Close up shop and come take a nap with me."

 

    Well... he might as well. It's been a long day.


End file.
